


Everything's An Illusion

by casofsuburbia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Demonic Possession, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, False Memories, Flashbacks, Gen, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casofsuburbia/pseuds/casofsuburbia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Naomi controlled Castiel through manipulating his memories, distorting them into something that would work for her. </p><p>Follows/are backstories/prologues/epilogues of some of the events from 8.10 - 8.17. Diverges canon in 8.17.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

An eerie silence filled the air, only to be broken by cautious footsteps. Dean rounded the corner, careful not to make noise. He was in the middle of the room, dark with blank walls. He had nowhere to turn for safety. After a few minutes of walking, unsure of what he's actually looking for, he heard a ruffle of feathers. Out of habit, he turned around, only half expecting what he saw.

  
“Cas.” Castiel looked down, sad eyes meeting Dean’s gaze only momentarily.

  
“Hey. What’s wrong? I haven’t heard from you in weeks. Missed you, man.” Dean put his hand on the angel’s shoulder, trying to comfort him.

  
“I…”  _Kill him, Castiel_ , the voice said.

  
“You, what? Talk to me.” Dean stepped closer, and Castiel raised his head to look at him.

  
But he didn’t see Dean. Instead, he saw a woman with mahogany brown hair and a gray suit, a button-up white shirt underneath. Her hair was in a bun and her eyes, blue. Not as blue as his own, maybe a shade duller, he thought.

  
“Castiel, there is something terribly wrong with you, and that’s the reason you’re here.” She sat in the chair behind the white desk, glass on top of it. He stood in the doorway; nothing but white light shone through the windows and the room was empty besides Naomi’s desk and chair, with two other white chairs facing her.

  
“I can’t do it.”

  
“That’s why we’re training you. Listen to me; do what I say and all would go back to normal.”

  
“What… what is normal?” his eyebrows scrunched up as a frown appeared on his face.

  
“Do you not remember what you’ve done to Heaven?” she proceeded to stand in front of her desk, her arms supporting her weight as it rested on the glass surface.

  
“I do.”

  
“You are going to do this to make amends. You don’t understand what you’ve done to your home.”

  
“That’s true. You haven’t let me take a step outside. I haven’t even gotten to Heaven on my own free will.”

  
“What use do angels have for free will? We’re meant to be soldiers. Soldiers of God.”

  
“ _God is gone_ , he’s left! He isn’t here! I looked for him, and I didn’t find him anywhere!” he shoved the chair on his left to the side, walking closer to Naomi, clenching his fists.

  
“Don’t say that!” She raised her voice, her arms falling to her sides. “Is that why you decided on your own accord to lead Heaven? To put it into ruins by your hasty decisions?!”

  
“Raphael was to lead you if I didn’t step in. We’ll be pulled back into an era that many of us have chosen to walk away from!”

  
“We ostracized them, we cast them out! It was not their choosing!”

  
“They chose not to follow the Draconian laws imposed on us!” Naomi's eyes, which were flashing just moments ago, went back to how they always were. Cold, calm, uncompromising.

  
“We will continue your rehabilitation, Castiel. Look at what you’ve become.” In a blink of an eye, he was strapped to a chair, a metal drill-like contraption in her hands.

  
“Hold still.” She said as she held the contraption closer to poke at his eye.

  
After a while, his screams died out, and Castiel’s wounds healed. He sat in the white chair, and Naomi was at her desk again.

  
“I hope things are clear to you now, Castiel. I did not want to do this, but…”

  
“I understand. The circumstances, the way I was acting—“

  
“All is forgiven. You are free to leave, but you are still obliged to come back for your rehabilitation.”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Welcome back, Castiel.”

  
He spent time on Earth, believing he'd never left, looking at the stars and watching humanity. He had this strange feeling, as if something was off, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. He felt a peculiar emptiness in his heart and an odd fondness for humanity— as if he loved them but he never did; as if they meant something to him, when in fact, they don’t. Confusion seemed to overrule all his senses, as if his mind was tricking him, creating some kind of twisted paradox.

“Is that what we are? You save a vampire by making me believe that the woman I love might be dead?”

  
_Sam_. Castiel watched the brothers from the safety of invisibility— being an angel of the Lord has its perks.

  
“What do you want to hear, Sam? That I was wrong? Fine. I was wrong. Okay? But if you'd have just heard me out, if you'd have trusted me, all of this could have been avoided.”

  
“You didn't want me to trust you. You wanted me to trust Benny, and I can't do that.”

  
_Dean._  Castiel treated the Winchesters like family, as humanity liked to call it. It pained him to see them fight, which they often did. He felt the urge to stop them, but he couldn’t. He felt a force stopping him. It nagged at him endlessly and he wanted to shake it off, but it refused to leave. He was helpless.

  
“Right. Okay, well, then, what the hell do we do now?”

  
“That depends. It depends on you. On whether or not you're done with him.”

  
“Well, honestly, I don't know.”

  
Dean walked out the room, grabbing more than a few beers at the convenience store to drink the guilt away. Castiel followed him, unnoticed.

  
_Haha, you fuck everything up._   


  
_Nice going, Dean. The one person you have, and you’re pushing him away._   


  
_You’re a fucking genius._   


  
He sat in the Impala, driving off to around ten minutes from the motel. He pushed the door open, along with one of the three six-packs he purchased, and leaned against the hood. Half-way through the second pack, he was already mumbling drunk nonsense.

  
“It’s not just Sam, right?” he asked himself, toying with the bottle in his hand. “I have Cas, don’t I?” he stopped talking, a small smile on his face while he looked at the illuminated pavement.

  
“Cas, haha, Cas. Where the hell are you?”

  
“I miss the frickin’ apocalypse, Cas!” he started to shout. It was around 2am. _Everyone’s asleep anyway._  


  
“I miss how even when Sam hated my guts, I wasn’t alone.” He took a swig of his beer every time he paused.

  
“You were there, you  _used to be_  there, but now where the hell are you?!” he finished ninth bottle and went onto his tenth.

  
“I fuck eveything up.”

  
“I need you.” As he finished his tenth bottle, he smashed it against the road, amber shards glowing in the moonlight. “I fucking need you, Cas.” He whispered, getting into the Impala, his eyes glassy from holding back his tears. Castiel sat quietly in the passenger’s seat, still hidden from Dean's sight. A whisper escaped from Castiel’s lips.

  
“I need you, too.”

  
The angel spent the next morning on the playground. He noticed a woman sitting on the bench with a crying baby.

  
“She's been crying for two days. The doctors missed something. It's called an inguinal hernia – very hard to detect.” He touched the baby’s forehead, and she stopped crying. He disappeared in an instant, and he was brought back to the strange, white room.

  
“Castiel, we have a situation. Samandriel has been captured.”

  
“I thought Samandriel was dead.”

  
“He's been missing, and now we know – Crowley has him.”

  
“Where?”

  
“His distress call cut out before I could pinpoint his exact location, but you will find him and you will bring him home.”

  
“Crowley will have warded against angels this time. I'll need help getting in.”

  
“Take whatever you need. But you will be certain, Castiel, it was your idea to rescue Samandriel, not mine, not Heaven's. Do you understand?”

  
“I don—“

  
Dean was asleep on the couch in a cabin, _it belonged to someone dead, perhaps_ , holding a beer probably from last night’s drink. Cas stood there, staring at the sleeping hunter, still in shock from being zapped from Heaven to Earth way too fast.

  
“Damn it, Cas! How many times I got to tell you – it's just creepy!”

  
“Dean, I need your help. The angel, Samandriel…”

  
They discussed Samandriel, how Castiel knew about his distress call, and the signs pinpointing where they could find him. Something felt different— Castiel felt as if he was lying, but that can’t be right.

  
_Angels do not lie._   


  
“...and that kind of pain, it creates a ripple effect of strange incidents. Where's Sam?” he asked, trying to veer away from something amiss inside of him.

  
“Sam's gone. It's all right. We'll, uh, find Alfie ourselves.”

  
They walked out the door and into the car. On the road to Nebraska, Dean decided to break the silence.

  
“Cas?”

  
“Yes, Dean?”

  
“Did… did you hear me last night?”

  
“What do you mean?” Castiel put on a puzzled look, as if trying to hide the fact he’d been spying on Dean last night.

  
“Like… Uh… I said that I missed the apocalypse and…” Dean said, glancing at the angel beside him.

  
“And..?”

  
“You know what? Never mind, man.” His eyes focused themselves on the road again, afraid to let down his guard.

  
“The answer is yes.”

  
“What?”

  
“I heard you. I actually saw most of it, too, starting from the motel room.” He replied, his head down, embarrassed and shy.

  
“Damn. You are one hell of a pervert. Watching me all night.”  _You could have just showed up._  


  
“That… is… I was not being voyeuristic, Dean.”  _You would have shunned me away._  


  
“Oh, really?” Dean smirked at him, and he felt his cheeks grow hot.  _Are you sure that I would have?_  


  
“Yes.”  _Because you’ve done so before._  “Can we ride in silence?”

  
“You want to ride silently? I thought you liked screamers.”  _You always just fly away, not talking about anything, thinking it would magically fix themselves._  


  
“Dean, please.”  _You’re not that different from me._  


  
Dean met Castiel's gaze one last time before turning his attention back on the road. They spent the rest of the trip in complete silence, as Castiel wished.

* * *

Sam was stuck in the motel room, not wanting to follow or talk to his brother at all. Who would actually appreciate a prank text telling you the girl you love is dead?

"Hey, Sam." Amelia wore a white labcoat over a light blue summer dress, and black closed heels. Her hair fell perfectly to the sides of her face as the sunlight emphasized her brown eyes.

  
"Amelia. Hey. What are you doing here?" Sam started to sit up, rubbing his eyes and stretching. He was sore in all the wrong places.

  
"What am I doing here?" Sam looked around to see glass windows and white walls, a desk near the front and a small bell on the top of the doorframe. "You spent all night on that sofa, here in the waiting room."

  
"Oh. Right." He replied while rubbing the back of his head. It hurt sleeping on a sofa— a sofa much too small for him, too.

  
"Your dog's going to be okay." She folded her arms and smiled down at Sam. "He just needs some rest. You can probably check him out after an hour or so."

  
"Tha— That's good. Thanks." He stuttered; his head throbbed and his limbs ached. He desperately needed painkillers.

  
"You're not looking too good." She started to walk towards Sam, sitting on the sofa beside him.

  
"I'm fine. Just didn't have a peaceful night, that's all."

  
"Sofa's worn-out, sorry. We do have softer beds in the kennel, though." Sam chuckled and looked down momentarily on the floor. When he brought his head up, he was met with the warmest smile he's seen for months.

  
"I didn't expect him to get sick again."

  
"It happens. A few days after an injury like that, he must have been stressed. He'll be okay though."

  
"Yeah." A long silence followed. Sam thought of the many times that Dean told him he'll be okay, but Dean wasn't there anymore. He was probably dead. He looked for him everywhere. He asked all the hunters he knew, tortured demons, prayed— but nothing. Nobody knew where Dean was. He eventually just gave up. He felt immensely guilty for giving up on his brother like that, but Sam was never one to be dependent on family. That was always Dean. Dean, who was nowhere to be found.

  
"Coffee?"

  
"Would be great."

  
"Come on." She said cheerfully, waving at Sam to follow her.

  
He was brought back to reality by knocks on the door.

  
"Look, last night at the bar, I just wanted to make sure it was you. You know... peeping in my window."

  
"Peeping. You make it sound so, uh..."

  
"Stalker-ish? Anyway, I ran out because he was leaving. He travels a lot since he's been back."

  
"Right, n-no, I– I get it. You had someplace..."

  
"I had to be, yeah. Are we gonna have a whole conversation with me finishing your sentences? So, why are you here?"

  
"It's not what it looks like. I– I thought you were in trouble– that you had– It doesn't matter. You're okay."

  
"I was okay. You know, settled in... content. But here you are. What am I supposed to do with that?"

  
"Give me five seconds, and I'll be gone. I didn't come here to make trouble for you. I– I came because..."

  
"You cared? See that? I just did it again– finished your sentence."

  
"Yeah, I care."

  
Sam was sitting on a park bench the following morning, watching kids play with other kids or have a picnic with their parents.

  
_"Think about this. Okay. How about two days from now, around 7:30? I'll be off work then. One of us will be here, and we'll know. Neither of us will be here... and we'll know. Or both of us will be here... and we'll know."_   


  
Would've been nice to have a family.

  
_Jess._  He thought he could have it with Jess; the pretty, long-haired blonde girl he met at college. The pretty girl who baked him cookies. The pretty girl who'd run her fingers through his hair until he falls asleep. The pretty girl who kisses him on the cheek and tells him good morning when he wakes up. The pretty girl who knew nothing about hunting and the monsters inside the closet.

  
The beautiful girl he fell in love with.

  
To be honest, Sam has never loved anyone else as much as he loved Jess. It was and always will be Jess. Sam knew that. But he had to move on— dwelling on the fact that demons killed his girlfriend the same way they did his mother ate him up from the inside. He felt broken in ways that cannot be healed.

Then, Amelia came. She was a lot like Jess— quirky, intelligent, beautiful. She wasn't Jess, but she sure was enough. There were problems, though. Amelia was married. Her father didn't like him too much. Her dead husband came back and was with her again, and Sam went back to hunting because they needed to. Maybe he could have the normal life he's always wished for. Maybe...

  
_Maybe if they close the gates of Hell forever._  Maybe then, he'll have a family, complete with a white picket fence and pies on the windowsill.

  
"Watching humanity— it never gets old, does it?"

  
As the Winchesters and Castiel tried saving Samandriel, Castiel remained troubled. He remembered everything that the brown-haired woman did and a throbbing ache in his head made him fall to his knees. He didn't know if it was the part of him trying to fight some kind of unknown influence, or if it hurt because of the metal contraption in the woman's hands. He didn't even know if he actually  _did_  remember anything.

They successfully saved Samandriel, and for a moment, Castiel felt relief and concern flood through his veins, maybe even compassion. Samandriel leaned against the Impala— all blood and bruises.

  
"It's okay. You're safe now. I'm taking you home."

  
"No. You can't take me back there, Castiel."

  
"Why not?"

  
"You don't understand. I told Crowley things – things he shouldn't have known. He got to our coding, our secrets – secrets I didn't even know we had!"

  
"What secrets?"

  
"Heaven, Naomi."

  
"No. W-who's Naomi?"  _Naomi._  The name rang a bell, but he didn't know where he met her. In fact, he doesn't even remember meeting a Naomi.

  
"Who is – listen to me. Listen to me closely. I've been there. I know! They're controlling us, Castiel!"

  
"What do you mean?" Castiel was sat in a white chair, a woman with mahogany brown hair in a gray suit hovering above him.

  
"Kill him!"

  
"What does he mean, they're controlling us?"

  
"Castiel!" the unnamed woman screamed.

  
"Who is controlling us? Why did I see your face? Why was I so afraid? What did you do to me?" Naomi pulled Castiel up forcefully.

  
"This is a direct order! Kill him!"

  
He killed Samandriel.

  
_He was compromised. He came at me. I killed him in self-defense. My vessel must have been damaged in the melee. I have to go. Samandriel's remains belong in Heaven._   


  
A perfectly sound explanation, tame compared to the other things that he'd done. The words left his mouth easily. Perhaps a little too easily.

  
"What... What did I do?" Castiel sat down on the white chair, his hands clutching his face. The blood from his right eye that dripped down to the bridge of his nose still remained, cold and dry.

  
"You did as you were told." Naomi replied from her desk.

  
"I killed my own brother... I killed my little brother... I killed... for a tablet." He repeated himself, over and over again, like a mantra of guilt. "You've killed more than one of your own, Castiel. Samandriel was nothing to that vast amount ."

  
"I... I was trying to make amends." His voice trembled, his hands shook. He felt, in all ways, wrong. He felt broken, in ways that cannot be fixed.

  
"You are, by following orders without question, without doubt. You have to trust me,  _us_ , Castiel."

  
"I don't..."

  
"Those Winchester boys..." Naomi said, scornful in her tone.

  
"What about them?"

  
"Look at you. We tried fixing you, but here you are again; full of doubt, uncertainty. They ruined you, Castiel."

  
"You can't say that..." he raised his head to look at Naomi, his eyes pleading.

  
"You are subject to re-training." Naomi said, standing from her chair and stepping closer to Castiel. "Starting, now." She pressed her fingers to Castiel's forehead and he was back to the abandoned room with white walls.

  
He heard Dean, calling out his name.

  
_Kill him, Castiel_ , the voice said.

  
_Kill him, now._   


  
And so, he did.


	2. Chapter 2

"Rise and shine, Sammy." Dean said, smiling to his little brother still tucked in under the covers.

 _May 2nd, 1993._  Sam's tenth birthday. Dean prepared a little muffin cake for Sam, and bacon and eggs for breakfast, complete with hot chocolate. He was going to get some grub to barbecue for lunch later.

"Isn't it a Sunday?  _What is it?_ " he grunted, burying himself under the covers even more.

"I made breakfast."  
  
"Wow, that's something you don't see every day, or  _ever_." Sam sat up, rubbing his eyes awake. "What's up?"  
  
"It's your first decade of living." Dean smiled.  
  
"What's the big deal?"

"The big deal?" Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother. "It's your birthday, Sam. It  _is_  a big deal. Even if it's not a big deal for you, it is for me." Sam removed the covers from his face, sitting up and looking at Dean with indifferent eyes.

"We live, we die. Isn't that all there is? Why celebrate something like that? We haven't done so in a long time, for anyone..." Sam broke Dean's gaze and his eyes rested on the messy sheets at his feet. He curled his toes and released them in a slow cycle.

"Hey, listen." Dean sat on the bed beside Sam, looking him directly in the eyes. "I know our life isn't fun, but I'm trying. Fix yourself up, food's ready. Happy birthday, little brother." Dean ruffled Sam's hair playfully, standing up and going out the bedroom door.

Sam got off the bed, and the motel floor creaked under his feet, a sound he has known for almost all his life. He pushed himself to the bathroom, grabbing a towel from his duffel and taking a warm bath. He brushed his teeth afterwards and dressed in an overworn plaid shirt, and faded jeans. Sam stepped into the small kitchen and stared at the table.

There were two plates, both filled with two eggs and a few strips of bacon. Beside the plates were two cups of hot chocolate. Dean sat in one of the chairs, and the remaining spot had a small muffin near the cup of hot chocolate.

"You did all this for me?" Sam asked, eyes wide with surprise. Hell, he didn't know Dean actually knew how frying pans worked. Dean usually cooked a pack of mac'n'cheese or noodles, and when something good was on the table, Dean usually told him John left it for them.

"I was in the mood for a nice breakfast, okay? Special day, Sammy." Dean smiled. Sam just stood there— he had been eating instant noodles and canned food for as long as he can remember. If he was lucky, they had Lucky Charms for breakfast, but that happened only on days when John was sober and frankly,  _sane_.

"What the hell are you doing just standing there? Eat." Sam sat down in the spot next to Dean, piercing the bacon and the eggs with the fork. As he put the chunk of food closer to his mouth, Dean stopped eating. He started chewing, and Dean was just staring.

"Huh, huh? What do you think?" Dean teased, grinning.

"Wow. This is really good, Dean."

"Yeah, well." Dean started eating again and Sam asked where the muffin was from. Dean said he didn't know how to bake and that he only just bought it from the store. They finished their breakfast in comfortable silence.

Sam was the pessimistic one growing up. He wanted to be normal and he always thought that he would never get it, not while he was with John. He loved Dean, dearly, but he couldn't stand John. John, who was supposed to be a  _father_ , but never was. He made Sam feel like bullshit whenever he had bad grades, and whenever he had good grades. He made Sam feel bad when he didn't go to school; he made Sam feel bad when he did. Sam, at first, wanted to please John, to be like his brother— he later realized he didn't know how and that Dean and him were different. Sam gave up. He didn't see the light at the end of the tunnel. That all changed when he got to Stanford. Everything changed when he met Jess. Jess, who taught him that people change, and that there's reason for hope. Jess, who lived a life fully unaware of the reality of monsters. Jess, who accepted him, even when he kept something secret from her. Sam Winchester, the pessimist who thought that life would continue to be shit, was changed by love.

Dean, on the other hand, did not know what to do with his life besides striving to make John proud of him. He spent every second until John's death to prove to his father that he's worthy of him. All those years, following orders like a soldier on the battlefield. He never had time to think for his sake; it was always about Sam or John. At some point, he learned to live with the fact that he had to take care of his own family for it to work. He was okay with it. In fact, he grew to love it, for there was nothing he wouldn't do for his family. And to live to make them proud or happy, in his eyes, was a good way to live. Dean, being Sam's big brother, had to show him that things will get better, because that's what big brothers do; they protect their little brothers and tell them it's going to be okay, even when it's not. He had to keep all that negativity inside of him and paint on a false mask of strength and hope every single day. Maybe, he started believing it too. But then Sam left, and John didn't come home, and the magnitude of that kind of loss came crashing down on Dean's shoulders. The only two people he cared for were out of reach. Somehow, both of them could live without him. Dean couldn't. They were his purpose, his happiness,  _his life_. There was nothing else for him to hold on to. Dean was nothing without Sam, because most of his life was dedicated to protecting him. If he failed to protect Sam, his world would come tumbling down over him and he'd blame himself, over and over again. The little self-worth he had would crumble down to nothing. Those thoughts made him keep a gun ready at his disposal. He could only continue hating himself for so long. But he didn't pull the trigger because of Sam. Sam was the rope he held on to while dangling on the edge of a steep cliff, ready to fall to his death. If that rope snapped, he would die. It was as simple as that.

* * *

"Hey, Mom." Dean placed the old photograph on his desk. There was a typewriter— even though he'll never admit it, Dean wrote poems. It helped him cope.  
  
"Wow. Not bad."  
  
"Not bad? I haven't had my own room— ever. I'm making this awesome. I got my kickass vinyl, I've got this killer mattress. Memory foam— it remembers me." Sam saw the happiness in Dean's eyes. He knew how Dean felt; being on the road all the time, it was difficult. All these kids would brag about action figures on display, shelves full of books, the coolest Star Wars posters hanging on their walls; what did they have? Dirty walls and torn sheets.  
  
"And it's clean, too. There's no funky smell. There's no creepy motel stains." Sam pulled out a piece of gum and accidentally missed the can.  _Oops._  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"I'm gonna go fix us some grub." Dean walked out, leaving Sam to explore his room. What did they have now? Guns and a weapon from Purgatory hanging on the wall. And a photograph of their mom on the desk. Sam smiled at the thought of Dean finally experiencing something normal and enjoying it.  _Normal,_ he thought.  _What's it like to be normal?_  
  
"What you reading?" Dean asked.  
  
"Sort of, uh, everything." He sat a plate down in front of Sam.

"Oh, good. Somebody's gonna have to dig through all this, and it ain't gonna be me."

"You made these?"

"We have a real kitchen now." Dean kind of wanted to bring up that he cooked for Sam ever since he was in diapers, but... cooking was sort of a guilty pleasure. Dean enjoyed cooking; in fact, he loved the domesticity it brought him, but he would never admit that. It wasn't manly enough. John taught him that, being a  _manly_  military man. You should only be proud to be a real man.  _No wusses allowed_.

  
"I know. I-I just didn't think you knew what a kitchen was."

  
"I'm nesting, okay? Eat." Sam took a bite of his burger, and Dean watched him eagerly. A lot like when he cooked for Sam on his tenth birthday.

  
"Huh? Yeah."

  
"Wow."

  
"You're welcome." Dean was about to take a bite into his sandwich when his phone rang.

  
"Yo."

  
_"Dean? Come quick."_   


  
"What? Kevin? Kevin?!"

  
"Something wrong?" Sam asked.

  
"Guess."

Kevin Tran; normal teenager from Neighbor, Michigan. He was in advanced placement and played the cello. He had a nice girlfriend. All he had to worry about were college applications and that damned essay he didn't know how to start. Oh, how things have changed. Now, he's a prophet. Now, demons and angels are tugging at him from every side. He wants to finish this; he wants to get back to his mom and graduate and live a normal life. That's why he's giving all he's got into this, even if it means wearing himself out until he's a bloody zombie. It doesn't matter— a zombie, but a functional zombie, it doesn't matter. It has to end.  _It needs to end._

"I figured out how to close the gates of Hell." he answered, joy creeping on the brothers' features.

"You've got to kill a hound of hell and bathe in its blood." A few more sentences and Dean is out the door, and Kevin in the shower. The water felt soothing, even if it was cold as hell; his clothes smelled decent and he didn't look like a ball of fur. _Things that keep me sane: the slightest sense of normalcy._

"Okay, I feel a lot better." he said, facing Sam.

"Hey, Kevin, buddy, you got to slow down." Sam knew how it felt— the urgency to take your revenge, and he knew it was destructive. He wanted to save Kevin from being someone he's not, because he turned into a monster when vengeance overruled everything else in his head. He saved a lot of people, that's true, but he's not sure if he can save people from themselves.

"What?" Slowing down was not an option.

"Get some shut-eye. Take a day off. Open a window."

"No. You said nuking hell— that's how I get out. That's how I go home."

"Right, it is,"  _but i_ _t'll eat you up from the inside. Don't make my mistakes. "_ but you can't live like this."

"You think I want to? I hate it here. I can't leave because every demon on the planet wants to peel my face off. I can't talk to anyone except you guys or Garth, when he swings by, or my mom. Right? And when she calls, all she does is cry. I just... I need this to be over."

"I know. I do. But trust me on this— this whole  _saving the world_  thing— it's a marathon, not a sprint. You got to take better care of yourself."  


* * *

"What are the Winchesters up to, Castiel?" Naomi asked. He was busy reading a book—  _Quomodo Angeli Conversari Debuisset._ On Naomi's desk were ten more books, some in Latin and some in Enochian. One of the books were entitled _Revertere ad Caelum,_ another  _Vatecara_. "Castiel?"

"Yes?" he said, looking up from his book.

"The Winchesters, have you heard from them?"

"I," his eyes looked almost sorrowful as he closed the book. "I heard..."

"I need the truth, Castiel." Naomi leaned forward, urging a response from Castiel.

"Dean has been praying." his gaze was fixed on the cold, white floor. "He... He asked about my whereabouts."

"Is there anything I should know, like why he wants to know where you are?"

"No," he shook his head lightly. "All of his prayers were very brief." he began to raise his head, making eye contact with Naomi.

"I see. Answer me this question, Castiel." she placed her hands in a ball, slightly tilting her head to the side. "If you were made to choose between Heaven or them, which would you choose?" a long silence followed, obviously Castiel didn't know how to answer. He was in the middle of his rehabilitation, so he should answer Heaven. Heaven saved him from Purgatory. It should be Heaven. But his heart, it belongs to humanity. It belongs to the humans in his care. It belongs to  _them._

"I believe circumstances like that could be avoided—"

"After your rehabilitation, I am going to give you a task. I don't know if it could be avoided, but you must understand that I have to be sure of the choices you will make."

" _For He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways_ ," Castiel stated, rising from his chair slowly as he gripped the sides. "Why must you make me choose? Our Father has chosen me to guard the Winchesters, you can't make me choose between Heaven and them." he bowed his head, shaking it in disbelief. Naomi can't make him choose; he would choose the Winchesters if he follows what he believes is right, but then that isn't right. He should choose Heaven, but that doesn't seem right to him. "I can serve both."

"We're on different sides. You can't serve both." she said, sternly.

"I can if you'd only allow it." he bit back.

"It can't work, and you know that!" she slammed her hands on the desk. "Those boys would not cooperate with us."

"You don't know them!"

"You have spent so much time rebelling against us that you have forgotten whom your loyalty belongs to." she disappeared right before his eyes and he was in the dark, abandoned warehouse again.

"We gotta talk."

"What is this?" he was surrounded in flames. His stance was unsteady and his voice shook.  _This was when they trapped me in holy fire._

Naomi specialized in screwing with his head. That's what she's been doing ever since she got him back from Purgatory. She needed Castiel to get back in line; to be in their ranks and be on their side. She will do anything, even if it meant resurfacing Castiel's worst memories and manipulating it to get the effect she wanted. She needed him to feel against the Winchesters, specifically Dean.

It didn't help that Castiel already had suicidal tendencies beforehand— he confided in Dean, and Dean was the only one he could trust, especially with something so private. But it was then, roughly two years ago, that he broke Dean's trust. He saw the disappointment in his eyes and it kills him to know that things will never be the same. He tried to atone for it in Purgatory, keeping the monsters away from Dean, but he misinterpreted that. Still, despite everything, Dean still looked for him and hugged him and told him,  _we're going home._  This was when he let down the one person who believed and still believes in him; and it makes him want to pierce a blade through his chest every single time.

"What is this?! Cas... I trusted you! We trusted you!" Dean said.

"Where's Sam? And Bobby?"

"Right here, jackass." Bobby spurted. _This isn't the way things went,_  Castiel thought, but the voice in his head kept saying, _Remember this? This all happened. You can't remember clearly because you chose to forgot it. This is all real, Castiel. You know it's real._

"I—"

"You brought me out of Hell, without a soul. You're working with Crowley, you're lying to us..." Sam enumerated, the anger on his face evident.

"I can explain."

"No, you can't! Before you and your new  _best friend_  dooms us all, this ends here and now." Bobby extinguished the holy fire as Sam raced to pin Castiel to the ground, the angel blade dangling over his chest. He gripped Sam's hands, fighting the force threatening to kill him. He could die, yes, but not when his only family hated him. He needs to redeem himself first. It can't end like this.

"Please, Sam! Let me explain!" he turned them over so Sam was under him, still wanting to pierce the blade through his chest. Bobby held Castiel, restraining his arms. "Do it now, boy!" Dean stood on the farthest side of the room, unable to do anything but watch. As Sam stood up, Castiel was still determined to explain himself. He violently pulled away from Bobby, and while he started to walk towards Sam to explain, he dropped the blade, suddenly rushing behind Castiel. When he turned around, he saw Sam and Dean yelling at Bobby to wake up. Bobby hit his head on the windowsill. His head was bleeding. Castiel didn't know that he pushed him away that strong. He walked towards Bobby and the boys, raising a hand to heal him when Sam interrupted. "Get away."

"I didn't mean to—"

"Just leave, Cas!" Dean snapped. "I don't want to hear any of your shitty explanations."

"I can fix Bobby while it's not too late!"

"You break more than what you can fix!"

"Please, you have to give me another chance." Dean stood from beside Bobby, grabbed the angel blade, and walked over to the angel, only a few centimeters separating them. He raised his hand and pressed the blade lightly against Castiel's chest. "I'm sick of taking chances. Leave, Cas."

"And don't ever come back." Sam added. In a blink of an eye, Dean was standing next to no one.

He wanted to fly off to somewhere, maybe in the old warehouse where they first met or the drowned man's paradise in Heaven— anywhere at all where he felt safe. Instead, he was in Bobby's living room, looking at the hunter sleeping on the sofa under the silver moonlight. "Hello, Dean."

"How'd you get in here?" Dean asked.

"The angel-proofing Bobby put up on the house— he got a few things wrong." he replied. As he spoke, he wasn't entirely sure it was really  _him_  talking to Dean. Right now, he would've been asking Dean for forgiveness, explaining himself for his earlier actions; but that wasn't the case, the words flowed out of his mouth, as if this already happened before. Castiel knows it did happen before, but then he's still putting the pieces together. He felt that what happened earlier was not the way it actually went, but that small nagging voice in his head  _knew_  it was real. He wasn't sure what to believe.  _I guess this is what humans call a conflict of head and heart,_ he thought _._

"Well, it's too bad we got to angel-proof in the first place, isn't it? Why are you here?" Dean stood up from his seat.

"I want you to understand." Castiel stepped closer.

"Oh, believe me, I get it. Blah, blah, Raphael, right?"

"I'm doing this for you, Dean. I'm doing this because of you."

"How is this for me, Cas? How is this because of  _me_?" Dean tilted his head to the side, accusatory in his manner. Again, Castiel felt something tug at his heart—  _this isn't the way things went!—_ but every time he had that feeling, the voice in his head tells him differently. It tells him,  _this is how it happened._ It tells him,  _the way you remember things is different, because you chose to morph them into what you want to remember._

"You're the one who taught me about freedom and free will—"

"So, you're blaming this on me, Cas? Whose choice was it to work with Crowley? Mine?" Dean walked closer to him and consequently, he was backing up the wall. He was in no mood to fight.

"I'm not blaming you for anything. I'm trying to explain—" He was pinned to the wall.

"Explain what?!" Dean slammed his right hand on the wall, his left hand still in line with Castiel's head. "You son of a bitch chose Crowley, you chose yourself." Dean leaned in closer, anger ruling all of his features. The angel only had so much patience; he was done playing nice. He flipped them over so Dean was in his former place.

"Listen, Dean. I am much stronger than you think. You do not pin me to a wall and accuse me of treason and selfishness."

"Ain't accusing you of anything, Cas. I'm just telling the truth."

"I have sacrificed everything for you, for Sam, for mankind." He narrowed his eyes at Dean as he felt the hunter's heart beat out of time. Dean was trying to play it cool, but deep down, he was scared. He knew Castiel could beat him to a bloody pulp if he wanted to. For a moment, the chirping of the crickets seemed too loud as dead silence engulfed both of them.

"You know," Dean said, bowing his head. "I used to think we were family once. You were like a brother to me." He raised his head to meet Castiel's gaze, gently shaking his head. "Hell, I don't even know if you're Cas anymore."

"Don't say that." He copied the hunter's prior actions, his eyes staring blankly at the floor. The words came out merely a whisper as realization flooded his thoughts— Dean is giving up on him. "I'm still  _me._ " He stared into Dean's eyes, almost smiling, praying that he didn't mean what he said.

"No, you're not. Who the hell are you?" He felt human hands on his chest, pushing him away. He heard footsteps grow faint with each passing second.

He was alone. Everyone gave up on him.

He wanted this nightmare to end, he was confused and scared; it didn't happen, it couldn't have happened. But, it was real.  _It was all so real._  


* * *

Finishing the first trial to shut the gates of Hell forever should invoke much happier thoughts, but that doesn't seem to be the case.

_"And you told me yourself that you see a way out. You see a light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel. I don't. But I tell you what I do know— it's that I'm gonna die with a gun in my hand. 'Cause that's what I have waiting for me— that's all I have waiting for me. I want you to get out. I want you to have a life— become a man of Letters, whatever. You, with a wife and kids and grandkids, living till you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra; that is my perfect ending, and it's the only one that I'm gonna get."_

"Dean, I know we've talked about this earlier, but I can't get it out of my head." Sam turned to face Dean, who clutched the wheel tightly in his hands. "Do you really think that?"

"Think what, Sammy?" Dean looked over to Sam.

"That there's no light at the end of a tunnel?"

"I've thought so for a  _long_  time." Dean reverted his eyes back on the road, afraid to meet Sam's gaze. He was afraid of what he'll see. Disappointment? Anger? Sadness? No, he couldn't do that to Sam. He couldn't see himself do that to Sam.

"Why?"

"You're all I have, Sam. I don't have anyone else. If I lose you in these trials, I'll have nothing left. I can't... I've protected you my whole life, Sammy. I can't even begin to think that-"

"I'll die."

"Yeah."

"Don't you trust me?"  
  
 _"I am smart, and so are you. You're not a grunt, Dean. You're a genius. When it comes to lore, you're the best damn hunter I have ever seen— better than me, better than dad. I believe in you, Dean. So, please— please believe in me, too."_  
  
"Of course I do."

"I won't die, Dean."

"Alright, man." Sam could see the sadness and doubt lingering on Dean's features. Dean, however, felt compelled to believe his brother. He was old enough, now. And Dean was wrong about Sam more than once. He deserves Dean's trust. "Whatever you say." The whole time, Sam never let his eyes leave Dean's face. It was only then that he decided to look out the window and focus on something else instead. He wished someone could change Dean as much as Jess changed him. He remembered what changed his view on life-  _love_. Sam wasn't stupid to not know that Dean has feelings for someone.

"But you do have someone else."

"What?" Dean furrowed his eyebrows, feigning bemusement. He had someone else, he knew he did, but he wasn't anywhere close to being ready to admit it.

"Whatever, Dean. You can't hide that forever."

"You know, I don't understand what you're talking about."

"There's someone out there that wouldn't leave you. He always comes back."

"Yeah, well... Stupid son of a bitch drowned in a lake, and left me with a frickin' trenchcoat once." A long silence followed.

"Sam." Dean said, slightly irritated.

"I didn't say a name, but you thought of Cas." Sam smiled teasingly, eyes still glued to the moving scenery beyond the car window.

"What are we, in first grade? Geez, Sam!" Dean slammed the wheel hard and turned up the the radio.  
  
 _Kill him, Castiel._

"You have got to stop. Please." He replied to the voice inside his head. His hands loosely clutched the angel blade, dangling above the hunter's chest.

_Kill him._

Something clicked inside Castiel's head. He did as he was told; quick, but not completely emotionless. As he sunk the blade deeper into Dean's chest, he clenched his jaw, trying not to squeeze his eyes shut as Dean writhed in pain before his final breath.

The woman in the gray suit appeared behind him. "Good work, Castiel. Just a little bit more, and you'll be ready." She said smiling.

"Okay."


	3. Chapter 3

"I didn't ask for your help." Dean heaved against the black van, trying to catch his breath.

  
"Well, regardless, you're welcome."

  
"Why are you here?" Dean walked towards the broken chair, picking up some of the pieces on the floor. Those weren't the only things broken right now, and he refuses to try fixing anything more than that.

  
"I had no idea Crowley would take Lisa and Ben."

  
"Yeah right."

  
"You don't believe me." There's no argument inside Castiel; the first two scenarios, he always had a little bit of doubt that it wasn't true, that it couldn't have happened, right now, there's nothing. Dead silence.

  
Naomi watched as the warehouse morphed into Castiel's memories, manipulating them as she deemed fit. She knew these events were hard on Castiel, and she had the powers to make those nightmares worse. She could change the way things went, and Castiel would believe it. She knew the doubt that he had wouldn't ebb away, but that wasn't her point— her point was to make Castiel realize that the Winchesters did not care for him, to provoke anger and mistrust. He wanted Castiel to kill them when she ordered him to; no love, no faith, no concern, absolutely nothing. This moment in front of her right now, though, did not need any manipulation.

  
"I don't believe a word that's coming out of your mouth."

  
"I thought you said that we were like family. Well I think that too. Shouldn't trust run both ways?"

  
"Cas, I just can't." He saw the look on Dean's face— Dean would never forgive him. Still, he clung onto that last lifeline; he hoped.

  
"Dean, I do everything that you ask. I always come when you call, and I am your friend. Still, despite your lack of faith in me, and now your threats, I just saved you, yet again. Has anyone but your closest kin ever done more for you? All I ask is this one thing." Briefly, he could see the guilt in Dean's eyes. It was quickly replaced by anger, yet again.

  
"Trust your plan to pop Purgatory?"

  
"I've earned that, Dean." Dean's eyes were scornful. "I came to tell you that I will find Lisa and Ben, and I will bring them back. Stand behind me, the one time I ask." His heart felt heavy in his chest as he felt himself swallow down a cry. Angels do not shed tears. Angels do not feel. But betrayal loomed over both of them, like a dark cloud, threatening a thunderstorm unless one of them can keep their emotions at bay.

  
"You're asking me to stand down?"

  
"Dean."

  
"That's the same damn ransom note that Crowley handed me. You know that, right? Well no thanks. I'll find 'em myself. In fact, why don't you go back to Crowley and tell him that I said you can both kiss my ass."

  
The thoughts in Castiel's head were devoid of love, or compassion; concern, or trust. He felt nothing but betrayal. After everything he's done, that's it— that's all they... he had to give back. After he saved him multiple times, after he obeyed his every order, after he rebelled against Heaven just for him— Lisa and Ben are still more important. Some girl and some kid who have done nothing for him but give him temporary shelter, a short-term fulfillment of a promise, only to shun him away after a mistake. Dean made many mistakes, but he chose to forgive him because they were family. It's what family does. They were a family.

  
Obviously, not anymore.

  
They were running out of time; the demons were hot on the location of the angel tablet and Naomi had to get it first, at all costs. That's why she just erased most of his memories of the Winchesters instead of manipulating them. She had the power to pry into the angels' minds and erase everything that was causing her discomfort while she supervised Heaven. She had the power to program and re-program them, allowing her to delete files that would interfere with their plans. Castiel was not new to this. He had disobeyed in the past, choosing humanity over Heaven. He loved humanity, he believed humans are capable of wonderful things, that killing them without reason is against their Father's orders and that they shouldn't, but he was always easy to revert back to his factory settings. Now, it's different. Their Father has disappeared. He lost faith in orders. He realized that the archangels were manipulating everyone in every garrison. Maybe, just maybe, something's keeping him from being turned back like the other angels— some sort of virus that doesn't let the manufacturers fix the glitches, some upgrade that doesn't let anyone hack into your hard drive without the right password. Unfortunately, Naomi guessed his password; the Winchesters.

  
As Dean walked away, Naomi appeared from behind the van, gently placing her hand on Castiel's shoulder.

  
"I'm sorry, Castiel. Let's bring you back to the office." She said, under the facade of being sympathetic.

  
"I hope you understand, now."

  
"What exactly did you want me to understand?"

  
"That those humans, they only used you. They didn't love you or care for you. You were a weapon."

  
"Please, stop. I know. I understand." he replied, clenching the hair on his head, threatening to rip them all out if another reminder of how the Winchesters betrayed him was to be heard.

  
"We're your only family, Castiel. Do you trust me? Do you trust us?"

  
"Yes," he loosened the hold on his hair, apathy flooding through his veins. If the Winchesters saw him as merely a tool, then he'd see them as merely objects. Another one of the many creations of God. Nothing special, as insignificant as a grain of sand. "I think I know what choices to make." His hands rested on the armrests, shaking slightly.

  
"I'll send you back to the simulation room. I want to see how honest of an answer that is." She replied, a smile creeping onto her face. Another victory, another asset, another step closer to getting what she wants. "If it goes as planned, you're off to debriefing."

  
_Cas, you got your ears on?_   


  
"Go away." He said, almost reflexively to the sound of the man's voice. That man is repulsive. He hated that man.

  
_Listen, you know I am not one for praying, 'cause in my book it's... it's the same as begging._   


  
"Is anything wrong, Castiel?" she asked, obviously puzzled by the way the other angel was clenching his fists so tight, his knuckles turning white.

  
_But this is about Sam, so I need you to hear me._  Castiel was so lost in the voice, engulfing him in it along with the anger washing over him like a tidal wave.

  
"I don't need to respond to you." His head was bowed.

  
_We are going into this deal blind... and I don't know what's ahead or what it's gonna bring for Sam._   


  
"Always about Sam... always about you." His lips turned into a bitter smile. Naomi watched from her desk, Castiel's reactions piquing her curiousity.

  
_Now, he's covering pretty good, but I know that he is hurting, and this one was supposed to be on me._   


  
"Asking me to try fixing something... I break more than I can fix, you said." His quiet, acrid laughs broke the silence.

  
_So, for all that we've been through, I'm asking you, you keep a lookout for my little brother, okay?_   


  
"When I asked you, you turned me down!" The lights in the room flickered as a small lamp by the door exploded. Naomi was startled— it required such great power to violently disrupt electric circuits in Heaven. Somehow, she was scared but she knew it wasn't her who he's mad at. It's Dean, and her plan's falling perfectly into place.

  
_Where the hell are you, man?_   


  
"Fuck you."

  
"Such... profanities aren't of any use here." she interrupted, more disturbed by foul words rather than the violence and grief they have and will continue to cause.

  
"Yes, I'm sorry." He said, shaking his head, trying to wear out the anger-induced haze. Naomi zapped Castiel back into the abandoned warehouse, the faint voice making his blood curdle. He knew that he was not driven by his obedience to the brown-haired woman's orders, but by his forced apathy. If Heaven wanted him to kill Dean, then he will— because he feels nothing for an insignificant human.

  
Castiel unleashed his anger at the human who approached him, over and over again, until he felt no more anger; until he felt only numbness. At first, he was vengeful but the emotion ebbed away. He had instilled in his head that Dean Winchester is nothing to him, and he felt accomplished. The past few hundreds of bodies, Naomi had left him alone. She had to track down the demons, the killings, if the Winchesters would be a hindrance or not— she had no time. But then, she was going to need Castiel down on Earth to fulfill her plan to monopolize Heaven. She wouldn't take the risk that Castiel would suddenly turn on orders, so for his last body before he was to be sent down, she had to watch. She had to know; she had to be certain.

  
He appeared from behind Dean, disarming Dean of his gun and throwing him to the floor. "No, Cas. No!" He twisted his wrist as he raised his hand with the angel blade firm in his grasp. "No, Cas, don't. Please." He pleaded, but the angel didn't care. Kill him, Castiel, the voice said. The metal weapon plunged into his chest, his breathing dying out as the seconds passed. He pulled out his weapon, twisting it as it left the hole on the hunter's chest. He heard footsteps, the switches being flicked, and a woman's voice.

  
"No hesitation. Quick. Brutal. Finally, you're ready." She smiled at the other angel, assured of her victory over this battle. The lights had already illuminated the room and Castiel felt no resentment as his eyes drifted to the corpses, perfect replicas of the man he just killed.

* * *

Benton, Indiana. Sunny afternoon, everything was normal. He was giving a tour at the wind farms— explaining to the travelling folk about how this all started, how the electricity produced is delivered to households, and how they work. As he was finishing his last shift, he smelled rotten eggs and saw a glimpse of black smoke. He thought it was nothing; a long day walking and talking, your mind's sure to play tricks on you. In a few seconds, his mind was pushed to the backseat. Something else was in his body. He tried to move, but he had no power over his body. He tried screaming, but he heard nothing come from his mouth. While he sat in the corner of his own mind, the figure turned around— it looked barely human, tattered and deformed. He saw the slightest hint of glowing flame from beneath its skin, wounds deep to the bone on its legs and arms. It had the face of utter misery, and he had no other way to put it. Its eyes were black and it was coming closer.

"Get... Get away from me!" He screamed, but the figure was unwavering.

"Tell me what you know." It hissed as it approached him. It stroked the man's chin with sharp fingernails and bony fingers, the touch burning him as it clenched around his throat.

"I don't... know... what you want." He tried to get away from its grasp, but it just clenched harder, the burn and the pain seeping into his bones.

"The crypts! Tell me where the crypts are!" It growled in his face; he saw fire from the back of its throat.

"I don't know, I don't know! Please. I just... I just want to go home." He cried, fighting its grasp as he felt the finger nails dig into his throat.

"In this wind farm, there's a stone box. A very old, stone box. I need you," It dug its nails deeper with the pause, as if for emphasis, "to show me where it is."

"I don't... know... what you're talking... about." he choked out, feeling his blood ooze out of his throat onto the figure's fingers.

"Listen here, since you won't talk, I'll be taking over this quaint body of yours until I find the crypt." It whispered in his ear. "Until then, don't even bother speaking or fighting me because  _I will kill you._ " There was a smile on its face as it spoke the last four words. "Do you understand?" It held its face directly in front of his— he felt the unusual warmth of the figure's exhales, as if it breathed only fire from the deepest pits of hell.

"I understand." The figure let go of him and walked away; he crawled into a corner, imprisoned in his own mind because he wanted to live.

The demon rode his body, wandering around the wind farms, the man only answering to the unknown thing to his head when asked. The man told him what stood in a location before the wind turbines occupied it. He said that an old stone chamber used to be on the spot near the leftmost turbine, and the demon foraged around the farm for a shovel and dug twenty feet into the ground, not even stopping to catch his breath. The man could not tell the figure that he felt someone was watching them— he was not allowed to speak, after all. He heard ruffling and faint footsteps, and almost instantaneously, he felt a hand on their shoulders.

"What the hell?" The demon spoke, the hand turning the demon around.

"Tell me where it is." The angel said, pushing the demon to the ground.

"What... What's happening?!" The man asked, ignoring the fact he might get killed for speaking.

"No way I'm telling you." The demon spat out, as the angel placed his hands on their throat. Midway through hurling a punch, the angel was in a blank, white office, a brown-haired woman looking rather worried.

"Castiel, the tablet isn't there! Kill him, and leave now. Downers Grove, Illinois. That's where Crowley's demons are." He didn't know where this office was and what he was doing there, and he didn't know the woman either but something clicked in his head; he followed her orders, just because.

He placed his hands on the demon's shoulders, channeling his grace through his palms.

"What's going on?!" The man asked, as the figure was slowly engulfed in blinding, white light. He couldn't see anything else besides that.

"You talked, I told you what would happen when you talked." The man heard demonic laughter as the light consumed the figure. He felt pain, as if his internal organs were turned to soup and his eyes were scooped out of his sockets with plastic spoons. He heard soft whooshing sounds from the turbines beside him.  _It's not normally that quiet, good, they fixed that. Good..._ At the last word came the silence, and he smiled. He could finally rest after a long day.

Castiel followed the demons to every town, the violent cycle of possessing and killing never ceasing. In a house in Lincoln Springs, Missouri, the cycle was altered. He was usually quiet, waiting until they finally got to the supposed location of the crypts. This time, the demons seemed to have had a hard time possessing the woman— or, so he thought. He heard glass breaking and furniture toppling over, screams and grunts. He knew who was inside.

"The other demon escaped. I bound the one I caught in a devil's trap. I'm gonna interrogate it now."

"Wait a second, Cas. How about you answer some questions first? Like, where the hell have you been?"

"...You heard me, didn't you?" The angel was somehow... stunned. He knew he flared up when he heard Dean's voice, he doesn't remember doing so, but he felt like he did. For one, Dean was in front of him and he wasn't angry, or sad. He wasn't disappointed, he didn't feel betrayed— he didn't understand why he should be in the first place. But something was telling him, _no, you hate him. You despise him. He betrayed you._

"You prayed to him?" Dean could understand why Sam was surprised. One, Dean doesn't pray. Two, he prayed to someone he knows damn well has been ignoring them. Sam knew Dean was loyal, but Dean never believed in angels. Yet, he had so much faith in this broken one in front of them.

"Yes, I heard you. But that's not why I'm here." Castiel kept talking, but all the sounds were muffled and the only thing Dean could hear was another tiny shard of his hope breaking. He shrugged it off— hope didn't matter, not right now. The tunnel was still dark, and he didn't care if it got fixed or not.

  
Castiel knew he should have burst out in anger, pure rage, when he caught sight of the Winchesters. A small, violent voice at the back of his mind telling him,  _they are traitors. Kill them._ Surprisingly, his emotions did not agree with that— he felt like a mindmeld of thought and memories that were not entirely his own. Sometimes, he thought that small voice in his head was a whole other person. That wasn't the case at all, though. The voice knew him as well as he knew himself. It couldn't have been someone else. Right now, living was being in a locked cage with the key rattling loudly in your pocket.  
  
There was a comforting familiarity in the Winchesters arguing— it brought him back to himself, like he could grasp the key and unlock the cage. Unfortunately, this argument was not something he could use as an odd substitute for a comfort blanket. Sam was willing to risk his own life, and even though his memories tell him that Sam had betrayed him, he heard Sam's voice... praying.  
  
 _"Hey, Castiel. Um... Maybe this is pointless. Look... I don't know if any part of you even cares, but, um, I still think you're one of us, deep down. I mean, way, way, way off the reservation, but... Look, we still have till dawn to stop this. Let us help. Please."_  
  
He remembers being torn apart, bursting at the seams with Leviathan, and Sam, despite his own refusal to listen and stand down even in the literal face of Death, didn't give up on him. He remembers Sam telling him to go away after he accidentally killed Bobby, but that didn't seem to matter. In fact, it was a blur. He remembered Dean telling him Bobby died because Dick Roman shot him in the head... He shrugged it off, knowing it was not of any importance. He would not let Sam endanger his own life.  
  
"No, you're not. Sam... You're damaged in ways even I can't heal. Dean's right. You should stay here and protect Meg." Again, he felt another little part of himself withering away and being replaced by factory parts.  
  
"Since when do I need protecting?"  
  
"Since you were held captive and tortured for over a year."  
  
"Touché."  
  
"All right, we'll be back."  
  
A dark basement. A wall breaking. A crypt found, and a collar slowly killing control over his senses.  
  
"Winner, winner, chicken dinner."  
  
"Good. Hand it to me, and I'll take it to heaven." The words coming out of his mouth were not his own, but it was his voice and he was well aware of what he was saying, that he doubted... it might actually be his own.  
  
"No, we will take it to Kevin so he can translate."  
  
"Right. Of course. I'll take it to him right away. No time to waste." He's lying to Dean— one thing he never thought he'd do again, because the last time he did, he ended up dead.  
  
"Well, he's not that far. I've been meaning to... go check on him, bring him some supplies."  
  
"If the demons get their hands on the angel tablet, they'll kill us all. They'll destroy heaven." Castiel felt compelled to respond to the woman, and he doesn't know why, but he felt that he needed to, like it was planted in his brain.  
  
"I can reason with Dean. He's a good man." Somehow, it felt like it was the wrong thing to say. The voice kept saying,  _Dean is a traitor, Dean doesn't want you, you hate Dean!_ Yet, a part of him ignored it, against his better, or worse, judgement.  
  
"Kill him." Control slithered out of his eyes the longer he stared at the woman in front of him. He felt powerless under her gaze— he will do what she says because it... it was right? It was just? It was for the better good? He doesn't know, but his body was acting on its own.  
  
"I can resupply the Prophet, Dean." He followed his will to reach a compromise, but the words were not his. He was lying, and he didn't want to lie to Dean. Not anymore.  
  
"You know, why don't, uh, why don't Sam and I take it over to him, and you can get back to your mission? Finding the other half of the Demon Tablet— that is priority, isn't it?"  
  
"I can't let you take that, Dean."  
  
"Can't or won't?"  
  
"Both."  
  
"How did you get out of Purgatory, Cas?"  
  
"There has to be another way." Castiel remembered tiny shards of some sort of training where he had to kill Dean over and over again. He remembered feeling anger and betrayal, violent stabs to the chest until he was purely apathetic.  
  
"You have done this a thousand times, Castiel. You're ready. Kill him. Then take the tablet and bring it home, where it belongs." The woman replied. He figured it out; this was what the woman trained him for. She trained him to kill Dean.  
  
"Just tell me how you got out of Purgatory. Be honest with me, for the first time since you've been back, and this is yours." He felt a horrible pang of guilt. Dean was right— all he ever did was lie, when all he ever wanted to be was honest.  
  
"Cas, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but if you're in there and you can hear me, you don't have to do this."  
  
"This isn't right." For the first time, he understood that the choices he made in the past were not his own. He felt that it weren't his own, but as an angel, emotions could never govern his judgement— now, he knew.  
  
"Do you realize what that tablet can do for us?"  
  
"I..." He knew he can resist this woman's influence. He had to try.  
  
"For heaven?"  
  
"I won't hurt Dean." He had to at least try to fight it, when all he's ever done in the past was hurt Dean. He couldn't do that to Dean again, it'll be one too many times.  
  
"Yes. You will. You are." Short flashbacks of Dean telling him to go and never show his face again flooded his head. Betrayal, anger, and hurt washed over him in gigantic waves.  _Dean gave up on you, this is all a lie! He asked Death to kill you, remember that?_  
  
"Cas, fight this! This is not you! Fight it!"  
  
 _Don't ever change._  
  
 _Next to Sam, you and Bobby are the closest things I have to a family._  
  
 _I would die for you. I almost did a few times._  
  
"What have you done to me?!"  
  
"Just relax, Castiel. Let your vessel do what you know deep down is the right thing."  
  
 _I would rather have you, cursed or not._  
  
 _We're going home._  
  
Home was not this white room. Suppressed memories came crashing down. It used to be pure white— now, there were shades of red and orange. Angry, violent colours seeped in through the windows and he finally remembered the first time he went into this room and what the woman had told him. He remembered the pain and the sadness of his manipulated memories, and he felt used and exposed.  
  
"What have you done to me, Naomi?" This... this  _Naomi_  had toyed with him to get what she wanted. He finally understood why he felt so lost and controlled ever since he was  _rescued_  from Purgatory.  
  
"What have I done to you?! Do you have any idea what it's like out there? There's blood everywhere, and it's on your hands. After everything you did— to us, to heaven. I fixed you, Castiel. I fixed you!" He was sure now. He was sure how all those shitty, generic replacement parts were now in his brain, rendering his own mind and will useless until he rips them off. He didn't know how to rip them off, but he knew they were there. One step closer.  
  
"Cas!" He had control of his thoughts, but not of his body. As long as he was in the white room, he was under Naomi's control, all his attempts for freedom absolutely futile.  
  
Punches thrown, bones and stone breaking. A tablet revealed as lightning flashed.  
  
"You want it? Take it! But you're gonna have to kill me first. Come on, you coward. Do it. Do it!" More punches landed on the hunter, and he couldn't do anything to take control over his body. If only angels were allowed to be expressive...  
  
 _You can. Benny, tell him.  
  
We'll figure it out._  
  
Dean was suicidal. Stupid lights at the end of the goddamned tunnel could stay broken, he doesn't give a shit. He was going to die protecting something, and he could only pray to whatever gods out there that his death meant protecting Sam, and not some slab of ancient writing. He was ready. He was going to die at his best friend's hands. Dean Winchester having friends? More like stapling jelly to a tree. He could only smile at his fate.  _Finally, going down swinging. Awesome._  
  
"Please." He pleaded, because he didn't know what else to do. He just wanted to stop.  
  
"End this, Castiel."  
  
The blows didn't seem to stop. He just went on and on until Dean was a bloody pulp. All he could do was watch, and it hurt him as much as he hurt Dean.  
  
"Bring me the tablet!" She used him. She made him into a chess piece. He was worried that his vessel will pick it up and he'll be standing there in front of her, with the tablet that let him be turned into a machine.  
  
"Cas... I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. Cas, it's me. We're family. We need you."  
  
 _Cas, buddy..._  
  
"I need you."  
  
"You have to choose, Castiel— us or them." What a stupid question that was. The answer was obvious.  
  
He reached for the stone as blinding, white light engulfed him; in the basement, in the white room, in his head and heart, _everywhere._ The chain's been cut, the collar's been broken. He was finally Castiel, for the first time in a long while.  
  
He reached out to touch the side of Dean's head, healing him from any pain he has caused. Mostly physical healing, but he can work on asking for forgiveness and gaining back his trust until his dying breath, which is most likely a few millenia from now. He channeled every last bit of his remaining grace to heal Dean, as it was exhausted by the tablet to relinquish Naomi's hold on him. He managed to utter a few words before blacking out and falling to the floor.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Dean."


	4. Chapter 4

"Cas? Cas!" He shouted as the angel fell to the floor. He dropped to his knees, trying to shake the angel awake. "Damn it, Cas!" He tried looping Castiel's arm around his neck, the imbalance making it nearly impossible for him to walk. He settled to drape both of Castiel's arms around him, carrying him on his back. He could walk, not fast enough to escape if the need arose, but it was better than dragging a grown man across the floor. He scooped the tablet up, tucking it in his jacket.

"Crowley." Sam said, shielding Meg behind him.

"I don't need your protection, Sam. I've been waiting for this." Meg snickered, stepping forward and shoving Sam aside.

"You little whore," Crowley smiled, stepping closer to the both of them. "We'll play later, okay, sweet cheeks? Now, I know your brother and the angel have the tablet. I'm willing to make a deal."

"Yeah, and what's that?" Sam asked.

"I am going to stand back and let you have your precious, little angel tablet but in exchange, I want the other half of the demon tablet."

"And why would I agree to that?"

"Without the prophet, I can't read it. Nobody besides the prophet can read those tablets, moose." Crowley cocked his head to the side, quite matter-of-factly. "I can't do anything with it, and I won't touch the prophet. All I want is the other half of the demon tablet, and everyone can go back to their happy, little lives."

"How am I sure that you're going to hold up your end?" Sam narrowed his eyes at the demon, thinking of the times that a demon had screwed him over and in turn, disappointed the only person he had— Dean.

"I'm hurt, Sam." Crowley replied, holding a hand to his heart and pouting playfully. "I used to be King of the Crossroads. We always held up our end." He smiled reassuringly. "What do you say?"

"The other half's not with me."

"Shocker there." He held up his hands, feigning surprise. "Of course it's not with you, you moron!" He slammed his hands to his sides, balled in fists. Sam stepped back a little, eyes wide at Crowley's sudden outburst.

"Chill out, Gordon Ramsay." Meg chuckled— she apparently found his outburst funny. "Listen, I know you, Crowley. And you're nothing but a lying cheater." She smiled, doing her best impression of a kids TV show host.

"Sam!" Dean rounded the corner, chest heaving under the weight of an unconscious angel. Sam turned around, instinct telling him to rush towards his brother and help him carry their friend but he knew that wouldn't be a wise decision. The King of Hell was still in front of them, and he couldn't let his guard down. Meg stepped closer to Sam, reaching her hand out towards him.

"I have waited a year to plunge a knife through that smug, chubby face of his.Give me the knife. Just go. I'll keep him busy." She said, eyes locked on Crowley.

"Did you just call me fat?" Crowley asked while Sam quickly handed Meg the knife, running towards his brother afterwards and helping him carry the angel into the car.

"Maybe." Meg pounced at him, stabbing his shoulder with the knife.

"Did you really think that would kill me?"

"No, but treating you as a life-sized voodoo doll is pretty satisfying." She smiled. Sam and Dean were lowering Castiel's body in the backseat when Dean felt him gripping his jacket before they even got his head in the car.

"Dean... what..." He turned his head to the side, seeing Meg fall to the floor, surely lifeless, and Crowley raising a gun, ready to fire directly at them.

"We're not done negotiating yet, moose!" He fired two shots and suddenly, the grip on Dean's jacket disappeared. He and Sam both expected a searing pain to flood their veins, closing their eyes in reflex, but none came. Then, they saw Castiel, blocking the shots.

"Cas, nice to see you again." Crowley smiled as Castiel bled out, but the angel didn't fall. He wobbled momentarily, but he stood firm and started to walk towards the demon.

"This... this all happened because of you." His face was angry, the lights blowing up as he passed them. "I was manipulated and used, as a consequence of the things you made me do!" Lightning illuminated the whole area, showing the shadow of his giant wings.

"Easy, tiger. That was your choice. I only proposed it, and you agreed." Crowley was stepping away slowly, one hand held up in front of him and the other holding the gun.

"Cas, come back here! You can't take him on like that!" Dean shouted, but his plea was ignored. "Listen to me!"

"You..." Castiel looked down confusedly at his now crimson shirt, clenching the part of his stomach that was bleeding out. He wondered why he couldn't heal it. He still had his grace.

"Oh, those were bullets made from an angel blade. Novel idea, ain't it?" He smirked, feeling triumphant.

"Crowley..." He growled as he reached forward to grab his head, exorcising him. Crowley's eyes lit up a pure, bright white, beaming out like a light but then, it reverted back to normal. Castiel tried again, his attempts growing weaker each time.

"Out of batteries, Cas?"

_Bang._

_Bang._

_Bang._

Castiel fell to the floor, scrunching the blood-soaked fabric in an attempt to stay alive. Crowley bowed his head and waved while he said his parting words, "Goodbye, boys."

The moment Crowley disappeared, Dean and Sam rushed to Castiel's side.

"Damn it, Cas! Why don't you ever listen?!" Dean said, worry evident on his face. The brothers each took an arm, carrying Cas to the Impala.

"Are we going to take him to a hospital?" Sam asked, also worried, but less aggressive.

"The hell we are!" Dean replied, his voice almost a shout.

"The doctors..." Cas slurred, "will not be... able to do anything."

"Then what, Cas? We'll let you bleed to death?!" Dean argued.

"Take... take the bullets out. I... I'll be fine after... a while." The angel tried catching his breath as he felt more blood soak his shirt. "I promise."

"I'm not going to let you—"

"Dean!" Sam raised his voice, knowing his brother wouldn't listen if he didn't. "It's about time you do what he says."

"Fine." Dean answered in surrender. They slid Castiel in the backseat, and the drive back to Kansas was quiet. Dean looked at the rearview mirror and saw that Castiel asleep; the side of his head was pressed to the window and his hands still clutched the bloodstained shirt. He noticed the way his ridiculously pink lips were slightly parted and how serene he looked like. He wondered what angels would dream of in the rare times that they fell asleep. He turned his head to the side and saw that his little brother was asleep too, much like when he would drive him back to the motel after an exhausting day at school. He always thought that Sam would dream of a normal life, and sometimes, he wishes his little brother would stay dreaming. It was better than being here, and if there was anyone who deserved happiness, it was his brother. Sam started to rub his eyes as the Impala pulled over at the hideout. Sam stepped out and coughed as cold air flooded his lungs. He continued to cough, drawing a little bit of blood with each one, as he proceeded to open the car door to get Cas out of the backseat but was stopped by Dean's hand on his shoulder.

"Get inside, get some rest. I'll deal with Cas." Sam looked at Dean, eyes a little bit disappointed but he understood that Dean only wanted him to be safe. He walked silently towards the door, holding back his coughs until he was out of Dean's hearing range.

Dean opened the door and caught Cas who almost fell to the ground, still asleep soundly. Dean crouched down and held Cas in his arms, not wanting to abruptly wake the angel.

"Cas. Cas, you have to get up."

There was no response.

"Cas, please."

Still nothing.

“I hate you, you know that.” He pouted, draping the angel’s arms around his neck as he carried him in his arms. Cas was about the same height, perhaps a little skinnier, but still pretty damn heavy.

_Thank god that Sam didn’t shut the door._   


  
He kicked the door open gently, then accidentally closing the door shut with his foot with a loud thud. “Oops,” he looked down at the sleeping angel in his arms for a second; seeing the way Cas’ brows were furrowed, even in sleep, was a fond sight and he felt a warmth in his heart that surfaced only once in a few years. He thought that maybe it hasn’t surfaced at all before. He quickly laughed at his thoughts, thinking how absolutely insane it is that this angel is making sparks flicker and his heart throb violently in his chest. He ascended the stairs, each step feeling like a hike up a mountain. He finally reached his bedroom, releasing his right hand’s hold on Castiel and replacing it with a knee to support the angel from below. He fumbled with the doorknob, but got it open with a fair amount of patience. He gently laid the angel down on his bed. He tried his best to remove Castiel’s trenchcoat without disturbing him too much and folded it neatly on the bedside table. He rushed to a little box at the bottom of his closet; a transparent case with a red cross at the middle of the top cover, displaying a variety of cloth, some whiskey, a sewing kit, a pair of scissors and tweezers. He then went to the bathroom to get a basin of warm water and a small towel. He came back and pulled a stool from under the desk, placing the box neatly in his lap as he leaned over to unbutton the angel’s shirt. At the last button, Castiel’s eyes started to open slowly, a faded blue peeking from between his lids. Cas jolted in surprise as just recently, he was at the beach watching the fish. “Where… where’s the water?”

  
Dean’s gaze flitted from Castiel’s bloody torso to his confused face, his own eyes narrowing at Castiel’s question. “What?” He asked, baffled.

  
“I was at the beach, watching the fish. Then the next second I’m here.” He cocked his head to the side, obviously bewildered.

  
“Oh,” Dean said, chuckling as he dipped the towel and wrenched it until it was damp. “That’s called a dream, Cas. Never got the front row view, huh?” He smiled affectionately while he cleaned Cas’ stomach of dried blood.

  
“Yes, I never got the front row view as you have said. Angels…” Castiel trailed off, worry and fear creeping under his skin and digging their way up to the surface. “Angels do not dream, Dean.” Dean sensed the angel’s emotions, even under his stoic mask.

  
“Come on, Cas,” he said, dropping the towel in the basin and getting the tweezers, “you couldn’t have fallen just because of these bullets. You'll be fine after I take these bullets out, you said so yourself.”

  
“I might have been wrong. It is a possibility.”

  
“That’s true,” a clank was heard as he pulled out a silver dish and dropped one blood-covered bullet, “but it’s just a possibility, okay? Don’t worry about it.” Two more clanks were heard before the only sounds that filled the room were the ripping of cloth and their own breathing. Dean looked up to see the angel watching him intently, obviously having questions he’s scared to ask— and get answers to. "Hey, maybe you just fell asleep because of  _these._ " He held up the silver dish, shaking the bullets against the dish noisily. "These sons of bitches might have put a lid on your grace or something. We'll see tomorrow." He smiled reassuringly at the angel, and Cas returned a smaller one of appreciation of Dean's efforts. Dean poured some whiskey on his wounds and bandaged it up, cleaning it again before he started to button up Castiel's shirt.

"No." Castiel said weakly, placing a hand over Dean's to stop him.

"Why not?"

"My shirt's dirty. I'll stain your sheets."

"It's fine, you know."

"I would rather have it off. I'll clean it in the morning."

"No, go rest or sleep or whatever you do. I'll wash it."

"But—" Cas leaned forward in protest, but was stopped by Dean's hands on his shoulders, pushing him back against the headboard.

"You're staying here." Dean started to take off Cas' shirt, pulling the sleeves off his shoulders, the pads of his thumbs brushing the angel's pale skin. It felt smooth and soft, and warm and his hands started to move on their own, making as much contact as they can without drawing suspicion. His hands cupped Castiel's lightly as he finally removed the shirt, his hands leaving the angel's body to sit on the shirt, folding it neatly.

Dean walked out of the room and Castiel, even with his profound naivety with human bodily contact, noticed the hunter's shy touches on his skin. He wondered if it was Dean's way of soothing him and calming him down, or if it was out of his own emotions. Castiel observed how humans like to take discreet opportunities to make contact with one they direct their affection to, and he wondered if that was why he felt soft presses on his arms and hands. He didn't want to assume— who could ever want to be with him, when he breaks everything he touches?

“Hey, Sam.” Sam was buried in heaps of books, fast asleep. Dean heard sniffles as his little brother tried to breathe, and small coughs every once in a while. He placed a hand on Sam’s forehead and then on his neck, checking if he was unusually warm. He was right— Sam had a fever. Deciding that Sam's better off asleep, he went back to his room to grab a spare blanket. When Dean entered the room, Cas was standing in front of the table, staring at the picture of Mary.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Dean said softly as he proceeded to his closet, eyes almost sorrowful but a fond smile on his face.

"You miss her." Cas replied, turning around to face the hunter. Dean stood still, frozen by thoughts of his mother flooding his veins. "Yeah," he responded almost inaudibly, then turned to his closet to dig under his clothes. Not that he had much to begin with. Castiel followed his hands with curious eyes, landing on a blue blanket with the letters S-A-M embroidered on the side.

"Is Sam okay?"

"Didn't you say so yourself that he isn't?" Castiel's head fell as the words left Dean's lips.

"I'm sorry. This is all my fault."

"It isn't, Cas. _This_  isn't." Dean shook his head lightly whilst trying to make his features gentler, as if to reassure the angel. They stayed like that for a moment—just staring at each other, making sense of it all— until Dean bowed his head and clutched the blanket in his hands tightly and said, "I'll be back."

Dean descended the steps, his mind still a horrible mess; he didn't know what to do for Sam, he didn't know how to make Cas feel better, what the hell am I supposed to do? He reached the bottom of the steps and walked towards the table. He hung the blanket on one of the chairs and proceeded to the sink in the kitchen, grabbing a hand towel and a basin from the cabinet below. He went back to his sleeping brother, clearing the table of books to make space for the basin. He pulled a chair closer to him and sat down beside Sam, dipping the towel and wrenching it. He brushed the hair out of Sam's face, gently wiping his forehead and face with the towel. "Damn it, Sam." He felt irresponsible and stupid for letting Sam do the trials. It should have been him, because how is Sam safe like this? How will he keep Sam safe if this... this thing is going to destroy his little brother from the inside and the frickin' angel of the Lord can't even describe what's wrong? This is his fault, just like everything else is. Everything falls apart and everyone dies, and it's all his fault. It's all his fault, and he can't do anything about it. He put away the towel and the basin after he felt that Sam's cooled down, and draped the blanket around his brother. "I wish Mom was here, sometimes, you know that, Sammy?" Dean left Sam to sleep and grabbed a case of beer, walking outside and sitting near the riverbank.

"Goddammit." The other bottles in the case rattled lightly as he took one out. He tried opening the bottle, but failed and threw it to the river in frustration. "Goddammit!” And frankly, that wasn’t the only thing he was frustrated about. He clutched his head in his hands, chest heaving as he tried to hold back tears.

"Dean." He turned around to see Castiel holding out a beer, the angel’s eyes a sad shade of blue. He walked towards the hunter, sitting beside him and handing him the beer.

"I'm sorry, Cas." Dean replied, setting the bottle down on the cold grass. His gaze settled on the night sky, staring aimlessly at the stars. "I was going to come back, but Sam and—" His head fell as his little brother's name slipped from his mouth, shaking his head slightly in dismay.

"You don't have to explain." Cas stared at him and he felt it pierce his skin. He looked up to return the angel's gaze, Cas' eyes directly staring at his. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Stop saying sorry, will you?" Dean reached out from behind him, pulling out a beer from the case and handing it to Cas. "I should be the one apologizing." His eyes flitted back to the stars.

"But you don't have anything to apologize about."

"I do, Cas. I have a lot of things to apologize for," Dean said, taking a swig of his beer. "and I want to make it up to you."

"Dean—"

"No, just listen to me. I was such an asshole." Castiel's head was bowed as Dean continued to speak. "When... when you were trying to break open Purgatory with Crowley? I gave up on you, Cas. I asked freakin'  _Death_  to kill you. I stabbed you in the chest the first time we met. Yet, you stayed. Whether it was duty or some shit, you stayed. And even though Sam and I messed it up, you stayed with us. I don't even know why but you did. And when you messed up, I gave up on you. Sam never did, but I did. And it was such a shitty thing to do." Dean fiddled with the bottle in his hand, making small waves with the amber liquid. "I should've believed in you, Cas. You always believed in us, in  _me._ I'm sorry. If only I tried harder, I might have stopped you, and things wouldn't be the way they are right now."

"This isn't your fault, Dean."

"If I hadn't broken that seal... Damn it, Cas, why did I have to break the fucking seal?!" Dean threw yet another bottle into the river, the moon's reflection distorted by the ripples of water. "Why me, Cas? Why us?"

"I don't know." Cas said, drinking from his bottle. "But I do know one thing."

"And that is?"

"I will do everything to make things right again." Dean looked at the angel as if he were all the wonders of the world. He knew how much pain Cas had to go through, and he understood that pain more than anyone ever could. And yet, he wondered, how could he have such hope? "But I am... afraid." Cas followed.

"Afraid of what?"

"Failing."

"You can always try again." Dean smiled, Castiel's eyes finally meeting his own.

"I can't do that." The angel shook his head in disagreement.

" Why not?

"Because I don't know what to do... if I failed  _you_  again. You'd hate me."

"How would you know that?"

"Because I know you, Dean. And now, I understand something I never really did understand before."

"And that is?"

"You."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally meant to be a 20k DCBB fic, but chapter five was a disaster. Decided to just post now. :(
> 
> Many thanks to Christina for being really supportive (and beta-ing this!) through everything. ♥ ILYSM HONEY PIE


End file.
